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sailor -
surely, no concept of Heaven
compares in all object to this -
the gift of fair winds, following seas
and that taste of Calypso's kiss
sweet, cool sprays of briny bliss ...
sprites demi-détourné on wave-tops
ten million gold coins that shine
slow-spilling from Avalon's coffers
to dance in these eyes of mine
a shimmering waltz, divine ...
such kinship I feel with the heavens
when cutting blue wakes with a keel
so much closer to bright creation
and amidst what I count as real -
my grasp, on the captain's wheel ...
to slip between the rolling swells
and cleave the crests like time ...
a whimsical wonder within me
like a child composing a rhyme -
an alluring adventure, sublime ...
a bell-buoy nods its red noggin
while clanging out mournful songs
a grumpy old gull chastises the hull
thus, cackling to prove me wrong -
yes, HERE is where salties belong ...
well, if I could choose my undoing
I'd imagine my last breaths to be ...
filled with these sighs of sea foam
one old swabby, quite fancy-free -
and forever made part of the sea ...
so when I'm old and lubbing land
and the dark shadows come to creep
please burn my marrow to ashes
and cede these bones to the deep -
for it's there that I'm destined to sleep ...
to the sea with my soul ... to keep.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Tinker, Taylor" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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